The Batman (2022)
3.5/5
Initially, it appears as though Reeves may well be taking us in an entirely new direction – something murky, deserving of the neo-noir influences it wears on its sleeve. Gotham is rendered as gothic as its name demands, a city at the forefront of its peoples’ daily concerns. Our heroes are indistinguishable from our villains – and particularly him in the titular role.
Batman, early on, is a broken, tarnished vigilante far more than he is a hero. A vengeful, angry goth looking to get his fix beating on the underclass and shadowy organised criminals. At times, he’s somewhat unnerving to witness, and I think Reeves fully intended this. The parallels, initially aesthetic then later ham-fisted, between he and the rogue opposite him, are intriguing and exciting. Beyond the handwaved similarities between Nolan’s Batman and Joker, Reeve’s Batman and Riddler are uncomfortably aligned in their goals – at times it seems Dano’s Riddler is leading Batman by the hand, teaching him to look at the bigger picture. And the tapestry Riddler paints for him is sprawling, all-encompassing; a panoramic landscape that threatens to swallow Batman and Bruce alike.
Yet it never really comes to that – though Reeves doesn’t fall, neither does he quite stick the landing. Perhaps for its need to comfort us that, yes, Batman is in fact the good guy, The Batman never earns its meticulous, mature set-up. It asks questions and though it answers them, the answers it provides are not quite satisfying. Themes run parallel to one another but never quite connect to one another in the ways that seem obvious. What appears to be forming into a sweeping critique, reverts to a single character’s emotional arc, a single individual’s quest for self-actualisation.
One scene, towards the end, seems emblematic. I won’t reveal it fully here, but I’d be curious if anyone may be able to identify the one I mean once they’ve seen it. Two men in a room, verbally sparring with one another, tension ratcheting, the culmination of the arc – only to be fumbled. Batman is let off the hook, left to ponder the questions posed but never face the full power of their implications. It’s this moment, this conversation, upon which the film’s overall success seems to hinge, and under the bulk of its promise, the film teeters and never quite falls one way or the other. It just hangs there.
For that first couple of hours, I was genuinely happy. The mystery is enticing, the combat is exhilarating and bone-crunching, and Pattinson's Batman is brilliantly brooding. Alongside, Kravitz's Selina Kyle is beguiling and complex, Dano's Riddler is menacing (though overdone to point of unintended comedic effect later on), and Turturro as Falcone is a surprising highlight. Unfortunately, though generally servicable, Wright's Gordon is a little too noirish, as is Farrell's impossible transformation into Penguin.
Michael Giacchino’s score amplifies things, and seems to lay on thick the already present griminess of the city, yet is in places a little one-note and overly minimalist for its own good. Crucially, though, Greig Fraser’s photography takes centre stage and - aside from some questionable choices regarding shallow-focus in the name of (apparent) tastefulness - is nothing short of breathtaking.
All in all, it’s a shame this isn’t as brave as it needed to be to really hang in there and deliver on its initial promises.